


training hours

by Val_Creative



Series: GoT Drabble-Palooza 2019 [7]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Badass Arya, Comfort/Angst, Emotional, F/M, Gendry is a Baratheon, Gentle Kissing, Quintuple Drabble, Romantic Friendship, Scars, Season/Series 08, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 14:54:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: There’s bits of steel in Gendry’s blue eyes. He’s powerful. Strong. Butstronggets you killed if you can’t think under pressure.





	training hours

**Author's Note:**

> EPISODE 2 IS SO SOON! AAAAH! I'm posting right before so I hope people can see it! Requested by SnowTigerFairytale: "Gendrya; forge." I hope everyone else likes this too! :) Thoughts/comments on it appreciated!
> 
> ((Want a request for GoT? I'm doing 100-500 word drabbles of any ship + any prompt until S8 ends. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a ship and prompt, as well if you want NSFW or SFW. The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you just read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))

 

 

*

"Don't _swing_ around like you are bringing down a hammer."

Arya mentally notes how Gendry awkwardly jerks and maneuvers his right leg during a lunge. She knocks him to his arse, pacing around until he stands up, flustered and grunting in irritation, returning to his defensive stance.

Gendry can whing all he wants, but it's better to train in the dimness of the forge. It's a long, lone corridor made of dark stone and a faintly glowing sconce against a wall. The older smiths grant Gendry half a day for training under Lady Stark's orders. Arya could hear them mocking noises in Gendry's direction like wet, smacking kisses, laughing and patting each other's backs.

Too many distractions.

"S'not like I won't be using my hammer while fighting," Gendry insists, raising his hand. "Might as well practice with it."

Arya gazes over him blankly, and then spins and parries, hitting him with her shoulder in the gut. She wretches away his wooden sparring sword, finally glaring at his lack of concern. "What happens when you lose your hammer? Or it's too far to reach? How about when the only thing keeping you alive is a corpse's sword?" Arya's jaw clenches. "That's all it takes," she says sourly, observing as Gendry wipes his face, looking away and shaking his head. "One _stupid_ mistake and Death takes you."

There's bits of steel in Gendry's blue eyes. He's powerful. Strong. But _strong_ gets you killed if you can't think under pressure.

Breathing hard, Arya tosses the sword. Gendry catches it easily with his sword-hand, raising his eyebrows and cracking a wide, pleased smile. He's improving.

"Looks like you got on just fine," Gendry states, lifting his wooden sword into position.

Something _hot_ feels near-bursting in Arya.

Without thinking about it, she rubs her palm over her leathered doublet. "Came close a few times," Arya mutters, backing away slightly when Gendry places down what is in his hand, motioning for her. When she doesn't say anything, Gendry moves in, his brows puckered, his hands touching her lightly. Arya feels like she's shrunken, her flesh too-thin and tender over her bones.

" _Arry_ ," he whispers, slow-sliding up and gripping onto her elbows. "Let me see."

It takes a moment but Arya inhales sharply, unbuckling her furred cape, working open her doublet and yanking up her tunic. The multitude of stab-scars gleam on Arya's stomach even in the dimness. Gendry's thumb and forefinger brush the deepest one.

She's never seen him this _furious_.

"… I'll kill 'em."

"They're already dead," Arya says dully, lowering her tunic.

"You did it?"

She nods firmly and the steel-blue of Gendry's eyes darken.

"Good, I'm glad of it," he replies, cupping the back of Arya's head, his mouth pressing on her skin. The warmth on Arya's forehead _ticklish_. The corners of her mouth perk up, as she hugs her arms round Gendry's muscular waist, leaning against his front and shutting her moistening eyes. _She's_ the distraction.

Arya can't let Gendry die for this.

*

 


End file.
